


(They taught me everything) just like daddy should

by badwriterrr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betaed, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Canon Rewrite, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Podfic Available, With the addition of drarry, maybe smut i'll see how i feel :/
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:26:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27850806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwriterrr/pseuds/badwriterrr
Summary: Draco's perspective of his sixth year at Hogwarts, with mounting responsibilities and the terror of letting down his family, not to mention Potter just seems to be everywhere...or,Drarry version of HBP
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to give some special thanks to artsy_hoe on Ao3 for beta-ing this chapter.
> 
> Also the title is from rät by Penelope Scott.
> 
> Have fun, and as always comments and constructive criticism are always wanted :)
> 
> I'm going to try having a normal update schedule... let's see if i can stick to it
> 
> PODFIC HERE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28089396/chapters/68819847

The afternoon was slowly fading into early evening as the sky pinked and darkened, and despite the magnificent view of the sprawling countryside, Draco couldn’t think of any place he’d like to be less. Crabbe had grown restless, having finished the last of his sweets and already eyeing Pansy’s two unopened Pumpkin Pasties with angling intrigue. In his head, Draco was passing the time betting with himself when Crabbe would make that harrowing leap to stick his grubby paws between Pansy’s legs where the small orange sweets lay in waiting. Just as it seemed that Crabbe had prepared himself enough to have a go of it, the compartment door swung open with a clatter, and Blaise waltzed in. Draco looked up, sliding just out of Pansy’s lap to watch the other boy enter. With some mocking amusement, Draco stared as Blaise fumbled in shutting the compartment door, muttering to himself as the thing rattled against his grip, before collapsing backward in a heap into Goyle, who, unlike Draco, seemed very unamused by the entire situation. Yawning, Draco collapsed back into Pansy, allowing her to continue methodically caressing his temple as he saw the sun catch the window of the compartment, flashing bright white for just a moment before vanishing into the heavens. Slightly perplexed, but brushing it off as a trick of the light, Draco tilted his head to address the new occupant. 

“What did Slughorn want?” He said, with a cold sneer Draco deemed well deserved, feeling somewhat snubbed that this new professor hadn’t thought to invite him to any special gathering.

“Just trying to make up to well-connected people,” Said Blaise before pausing to glare at his nails, "Not that he managed to find many.”

Again, Draco found himself rising out of Pansy’s lap just slightly, feeling a slight strain in his neck, dulled completely by the outrageousness of what he’d just heard. He was completely bewildered that Slughorn had simply forgotten about Hogwart’s most well-connected, richest, and dare Draco say, most talented student.

“Who was invited!”

Blaise seemed to grin at this, his lips curling up just enough to flash his pearly teeth. 

“Oh, you know, Mclaggen—“ Draco nodded at this. Fair, his family had it’s thumbs just about everywhere. “—Some Ravenclaw called Belby—“ Pansy gasped and muttered, sounding aghast, despite this Belby fellows insignificance to Draco, however before he even had a chance to ask, Blaise spoke again.

“—Longbottom, Potter and the girl Weasley.”

That hit him like a bucket of frozen water, the horror, the dishonor— honestly, who in their right mind would waste their time wanting to meet with Longbottom and the she-weasel. No self-respecting wizard would dare muddle themselves with brainless vermin and filth like them. Whether Slughorn was completely barmy or merely a blood traitor, Draco was none the wiser. Draco scowled, considering this before allowing himself to evaluate any more of his given information. Of course, he’d be fumbling to fall to kiss the grubby boots of Saint Potter, who didn’t? 

Draco made his concerns loud and clear to his house-mates, who quite quickly began mocking the girl Weasley’s looks, skills, and blood.

“Word has it that our dearest Potter quite fancies her, actually,” said Pansy with a malicious grin, elbowing Draco in the side and earning herself a sharp smack on the shoulder for her efforts. He should never have told that cow anything. Well, not like she’d given him much choice in the manner, drowning him in half her uncle’s liquor cabinet until his tongue was loose enough to spill his deepest darkest desires. 

With a humph, sticking his chin up at her, Draco sat up fully and glowered at the rest of them.

‘Well, I pity Slughorn’s taste. Maybe he’s going a bit senile.” Said Draco with a sigh, leaning back against the uncomfortable couched seat, allowing himself to lament on the travesty of his exclusion, “Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn’t heard I’m on the train, or —“

“I wouldn’t bank on an invitation,” said Blaise with that same enticing, near malicious smile he’d inherited from his mother. “He asked me about Nott’s father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry, he didn’t look happy, and Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters.”

Sometimes Draco forgot the only reason he kept Blaise around was because of his pretty face. It was a wonder he was even in Slytherin, given that he was baseless and goalless--with his only skillset relegated to flirting and making others uncomfortable (which were not mutually exclusive). That, partnered with his low birth and blatant disrespect for his superiors— well, it is best to say that Blaise was just a pretty little pest.

Furthermore, that  _ dig _ was shameless. Blaise had no tact. No class. He had no clue who Draco was. How powerful and influential Draco would soon become, even more than precious little Potter. 

With a lazy sneer, he blinked slowly, a warning as clear as day. 

“Well, who cares what he’s interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher.” Then he paused, surveying Blaise’s face, looking for chinks in his armor, acting as unfazed and bored as he could, “I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what’s it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?”

Blaise blinked, and his thin, well-trimmed brow raised slightly just as Pansy turned around to gawk at Draco.

He grinned a little more at that, letting his head tilt slowly like a cat’s, surveying his now attentive listeners.

“Well, you never know, I might have – er – moved on to bigger and better things.”

That took the wind right out of them. There was nothing else Draco could have meant, nothing except the obvious.

They, as expected, leaped into questions. However, Draco left them with nothing but a grin and a shrug. At least he had some respect from some people; bugger this Slughorn, Draco didn’t need him. His bruised ego had entirely healed by the time they moved to dress into their robes. But then, something extraordinarily peculiar happened. When Goyle moved to reach out for his trunk, it seemed to hit something with a rather dull smack, followed immediately by an eerily familiar yelp.

Then, that flash of light made just that little bit more sense as realization dawned upon him as the train entered the station.

He couldn’t help the grin that crept across his face as the others begun filing out, turning back to check for him. 

“You go on,” he said cooly, bashing down the mix of glee and terror bubbling up inside him.

“Incarcerous!” He shouted, throwing the hex at the empty space of the luggage compartment. There was a loud crash, followed by another rattling bang as a flailing body thunked hard against the floor.

“Malfoy!” snapped the struggling invisible figure. Draco nudged the jittering pile of nothing with the toe of his boot before leaning down and flinging the cloak off Harry Potter.

“Thought so,” muttered Draco, eyeing Harry properly. He was struggling in his blindings, lips split and nose bloody— probably broken, Draco assumed. Draco watched curiously as the body rose into a sitting position to glare up at him with those preposterously ludicrous spectacles.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy!” Harry snapped again, shaking his head with a fury of black tangles. 

Draco smirked, leering down over Potter, “Aw, how sweet, Potter didn’t know you missed me  _ that _ much."

Harry shook his head again as if trying to fix his broken nose with a quick shake. 

“I heard what you are up to, Malfoy! I’m going to Dumbledore about it!” 

“Yes, Potter, please do, tell you Dumbie all about what I’m plotting— which is what exactly?” He asked with mock curiosity. “You didn’t hear anything I care about, don’t worry you speckled head about it.”

“Bet you care that I know about Borgin and Burks.”

Draco’s blood ran cold at that; all his thoughts seemed to evaporate from his mind as he stood blankly staring at Potter. And then, without really meaning to, Draco’s foot came forward at its own volition and slammed into Potter’s already bleeding nose.

“That’s for my father,” he said in a rasp, as Harry’s head flew back to collide with the floor once more. “And you didn’t see anything at Borgin and Burks, or I wouldn’t be here right now? Would I?” And for good measure, Draco emphasized his point by kicking Potter in the ribs, earning an annoyed yelp of pain. 

“You think you’re so great, don’t you, Potter. The chosen one? Bet you loved having that old oaf fawning over you-- he wouldn’t know real greatness even if it was staring him right in the face.”

Potter grunted something back, though Draco couldn’t hear him, not with all the heat rushing to his ears. Blood began to pool down his chin, staining his light blue tee.

If Draco hadn’t let his thoughts of Potter seeing him in Borgin and Burks, maybe he found have noticed the magical bindings around Potter’s torso begin to loosen and fade. Perhaps he may have even noticed his left hand subtly reaching across the floor to his wand. Maybe. Though Draco never was the most practical or focused when it came to Harry Potter.

“Rictusempra!”

Draco bearly had time to cast a shoddy shield charm, blocking the spell enough but sending him rocketing backward, tripping over his own feet as the shards of magical glass flew through the air around his face. He came a little more prepared when Potter threw a stupefy his way, ducking down as flashes of red bounced off the compartment door, giving him just enough time to cast a strong expelliarmus that Potter had no chance of dodging. His wand was flying into the air at lightning speed. And then, Potter did something unexpected. Though, a note here, that almost everything Potter ever did was unpredictable, so this act in itself should have, in a way, been expected to Draco. Draco’s body slammed against the floor with such ferocity, Draco thought for a moment that Potter had cast some extremely powerful wandless spell. Until he noticed that Potter was on top of him and had tackled him like some unkempt rabid muggle. His fist jabbing into Draco’s gut. As the burning pain rippled through his body, Draco finally realized how crazed and soiled Potter truly was. It was filthy. He was fighting like a muggle. Honestly, the mear profanity of it-- acting as if Draco was just some muggle at a bar fight.

“That’s for your aunt-- for my godfather!” Growled Potter as a string of spit and blood splattered on Draco’s chin.

Draco grabbed him by the back of his matted overgrown black hair and pulled hard, using the distraction to allow his knee to jab sharply into Potter’s groin. Rolling them over with all the weight he had, he landed a square punch to Potter’s cheekbone. Draco instantly realized his mistake as real searing pain exploded through his knuckle, as he did his best to slide off Potter, aching hand in his grip, an attempt to distance them through his intense pain. Potter seeing no such need for space, crawled over to him, two hands on his black lapels, as Draco sent a silent plea that his favorite suit would not rip.

Draco was expecting it the next time Harry threw a blunt punch to his stomach and was eternally grateful Potter had not thought to mar Draco’s face. Draco’s elbow collided with Potter’s ear as his head fell momentarily into Draco’s chest. 

And then came a rumbled from beneath them both, the slow dawning realization that the train was beginning to move.

They sprung off each other at once, Draco’s injured and fumbling for his trunk as Harry began to open the compartment door, the both of them clambering out, dashing down the long compartment hall.

“We can make it!” Bellowed Potter as the train slowly begun to pick up speed, steadily pushing through the station.

“Here!” Harry insisted, presumably talking to himself as he threw the main door open, displaying the windy moving platform. Potter steadied himself and then, with a deep breath, jumped, hitting the floor with a thunk, his body rolling over sideways. Draco didn’t have much time, following Potter’s lead, gripping his trunk in hand, watching as the station moved faster and faster, and then closing his eyes, jumped. 

It hurt, a lot more than the bashing from Potter did, as his temple collided with the stone with a hard thwack. Groaning, he tried to sit back on his knees, twisted uncomfortably beneath him.

“You alive?” The Savior asked, striding over to where Draco was crumpled over his trunk. 

“Just peachy, Potter,” Draco said, trying his best to keep his words together no matter how dazed and pained he was feeling.

Then, slowly he raised his head properly, feeling hot dampness across his forehead. 

“Blimey, Malfoy, stuck with that landing, didn’t you?” Potter was laughing, a cold sneer of a laugh that Draco despised.

“Bugger off,” was all he could spit, attempting to get to his feet, refusing to allow Potter of all people see him weakened. Yet, his newly bruised body gave no inclination of wanting to move, so he found himself lurched forward once more as his legs gave out. 

“Hey, you good?” Harry was saying now, touching him, a strong hand on his shoulder, keeping him from collapsing. Before Draco had a chance to protest, he was being heaved up by those strong hands, his ribs gave a sharp ache, and he stumbled back into Potter’s chest.

“Don’t be a wuss,” Potter grunted as Draco let out a soft wine in pain as his arm was heaved over Potter’s shoulder to support his bodyweight fully.

“Thanks to you; I think we missed the carriages.” 

“Thanks to me?” Draco sneered into Harry’s damp throat stumbling as Harry began to walk. He was slow, limping slightly from his fall, but he was big enough that Draco’s smaller body wasn’t difficult to steer. 

He hated being close to Potter like this. It made the ghost of his fourth-year self rise in him and giddy at the touch. If he had a chance to go back in time and smack that version of Draco right across the face, he would. Snap him out of those teenage feelings that’d only come back to embarrass him in the future. 

“If you hadn’t decided to perv on my friends and me, then we wouldn’t be in this situation, now would we?”

“Do you want to crawl back to school?”

Draco didn’t answer; instead, he tripped on a loose tree root as they entered the forest. He held tighter onto Harry’s shoulder but found it no use as the both of them lurched forward into the dirt. Draco let out a yell as his robes soaked in mud, and he was trapped under Harry’s horizontal body.

“Merlin, Malfoy, watch it!” He snapped, hurrying to his feet then groaning. “Come here,” he said, looking down at Draco with a glare, his arms outstretched, “wrap your arms around my neck.”

“I think not!” Draco snapped, slipping further into the mud at the shock of Harry’s statement.

“What? It’s quicker if I just carry you. Don’t make a fuss. It’s cold, and I’m sore, and now soaked in mud.”

“Absolutely not!” Draco gasped, attempting to stand on his own, still failing, slipping back into the mud, this time getting it on his face. “I’m not a girl, Potter! I’m not some damsel in distress-- I'm not your she-weasel.”

Harry scowled, snorted, and started to walk past him.

“Wait, Potter!”

Potter paused, a soft smile on his lips. “Yes, Malfoy?”

“You can help me,” He said softly, refusing to look at Potter’s stupid mug as he approached, leaning down, wrapping his arms around Draco. Draco groaned but linked his arms around Harry’s neck so he could be lifted.

Harry let out a soft grunt pulling Draco up, one arm on Draco’s back, the other beneath his knees.

“You’re lighter than you look,” said Harry, starting to move. Draco ignored this, instead deciding to glare at Harry’s mud-stained shirt. This was undoubtedly the most embarrassing situation he’d ever been in, and he’d once been transfigured into a ferret and shoved down someone’s pants.

“I swear, Potter, you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”

Potter laughed at that, and Draco could feel his entire body shudder with it. Merlin, this was fourteen-year-old Draco’s wet dream realized. He wanted to keel over and die. 

They were in silence for the rest of the journey, ignoring the strange contact. Even as he felt his head stop swimming with pain, Draco forced himself to stay silent, it was all too weird, and he was freezing, and Potter was so warm. He sighed, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath into Potter’s skin before falling lax.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't know i've been working on a podfic to accompany this :) check it out here : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gFYbSOi5XFE&list=PLew5W3nqZCjYVxya4hpz6KC6YGLd8FWxk
> 
> And as usual, heaps of thanks to artsy_hoe for the beta :)

It didn’t take long for Draco to be freed from the hospital wing. An hour at most, from what he could assume. He was fine, Madam Pomfrey told him in her curt, harsh voice she reserved only for hypochondriacs like him. A few healing charms and a dose of Pepperup, which he swallowed with a wince at the burning cayenne flavor, before being shuffled out into the great hall to catch the very last few seconds of supper. He deliberately did not look at the Gryffindor table as he strode over to the other Slytherins, all of whom were beginning to wander out of their seats to go back to their common room.

“Drakey!” Squealed Pansy, bounding up from her seat with newly born kindling. She leaped across the bench, sprinting over to him with arms outstretched and cradling him in her strangely iron grip.    
  
“We were so worried,” She said, muffled through the fabric of his robes. 

“Which is why you all left without me, I suppose? So disturbed by my disappearance that you mosied on back to the castle?” He said with a sneer, finally prying her off him, waving her away with a single flick of his wrist.

“You said--”

“Do shut it; I’m certainly not in the mood for your blabbering.”

Pansy pouted, scowled before skittering past him out of the great hall. Crabbe and Goyle had returned to their seats, looking over at him expectantly as he sat beside them, glaring down at the desserts laid out in front of them. 

“Malfoy.”

Draco looked up, finding the gangly face of Theodore Nott. He looked worn, usually bulbous eyes now sunken back into his skull, that and the green tint to his cheeks. Nott offered him a small smile and a nod that seemed to weigh down his whole neck. 

“Nott,” Draco replied, a gentle, knowingness to his words, a shared sense of understanding hovering between them. 

Nott had lost his father, just as Draco had. And the boy didn’t have a mother to turn to for shelter, nor enough money to support himself through the absence.

“Heard Potter jumped you?” Nott asked, evaporating all that empathy Draco held for him. 

Draco’s brow drew close, relaxing back against the bench.

“Is that what Scarhead is calling it? I suppose that depends on your definition. Does me stomping on his face like the little pest he is sound like being jumped?”

Beside him, Goyle snickered. 

“That little ill-bred filth was spying on me, you see,” Continued Draco with a lazy shrug, a yawn on his lips as he leaned down to inspect his nails. 

“Thought so,” added Nott with a gleeful smile, “he was covered in blood when he came in, and those bloody Gryffindors were trying to convince us that he sprung one on you.”

Against his better judgment, Draco couldn’t help but tilt his head over to glance back to the Gryffindors. And yes, indeed, Potter’s front was covered in dried blood as he stuffed another treacle tart in his gob. Both he and Weasley were glaring at him intently, and he scoffed as the Weasel flipped him the bird. 

Draco, grinning in earnest now, stood, gesturing for Crabbe and Goyle to follow as he left the hall, now smug as ever. 

Well, he was until he found out his debacle with Potter had earned him a month of detention. Wonderful. As if he didn’t have enough to focus on. And to top it all off, his favorite subject had been usurped by none other than that Potter-fanboy, Slughorn.

Slughorn had indeed been everything Draco had suspected. He’d filled into the classroom with the others to find the pump, stout man mulling over several cauldrons, each with wafting aromas. One which Draco noticed as he passed had such a tantalizing and addictive scent that he and Pansy couldn’t help but pause in front of. 

He froze, inhaling the scent of his citrus cologne, crisp granny smith apples his mother grew, and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was earthy and almost muggy, something that reminded him a little of quidditch, but he wasn’t sure why. The strange familiarness to it forced him to lean a little closer, trying desperately to remember where exactly he’d smelt it. Only finding the sent pulse, swarming all around him as he was shoved. 

“Watch it, Malfoy,” Potter grunted, moving out of his vicinity, as the smell announced itself like an ear splitting siren. Flushing profusely, he grabbed Pansy by the arm and pulled them both to the furthest bench away from that potion. Clearing his mind just like Aunt Bella had taught him and sunk in his seat. 

Yes, it was not a new discovery. Draco was uncomfortably aware of his physical attraction to the famed chosen one. He was not stupid, nor would he kid himself on how his own body betrayed him when it came to Potter. Not that it meant anything, of course. Quite the opposite. He’d had all of last year to truly experiment with his sexuality and had enjoyed it quite a lot, solidifying the notion that his slight gravitation to Potter was simply just a product of his already confused sexuality. He liked blokes, and Potter just another relatively fit bloke. That was all. Still, the reminder always unsettled him quite a bit.

Draco, by the end of the disastrous lesson, had come to the concussion that he was currently in the worst week of his life. Slughorn was an utter fool who worshiped not only bloody Potter, but his pet Mudblood too. To add to that, not only had he snubbed Malfoy, he had also been blind enough to believe that Potter deserved that luck potion. Potter, who was dreadful at potions, had just grinned and shrugged like he hadn’t just swindled the whole class. Not to mention, out of everybody in that bloody class, Draco deserved that potion the most. He needed a bit of luck to help with his tasks. And then, finally, not only was he not allowed to spend the afternoon working on that ruddy cabinet. No. He was to spend the afternoon cleaning the DADA classroom with none other than that idiot Potter. 

He wouldn’t even be surprised if someone was plotting to kill him, not the other way round. 

Snape had escorted them both inside, shook his head, and with a whirl of his ankle-length black robes, left them to their devices.

It was quite simple, really, shelving and re-shelving old books, moving desks back into their usual uniform pattern, casting a cleaning charm on a few particularly dusty antique portraits. Potter was quiet for most of it, only grumbling to himself occasionally, that; “I bloody helped Malfoy, and still he’s punishing me.”

Still, his quiet musings were not particularly a nuisance; Draco’s mind was too busy pondering about that cabinet in the room of requirement. That was the simplest of his two tasks and the one that didn’t make his stomach ache to think about. Though, the slight reminder of the impossible assignment left him jittery and feeling rather ill. 

He stilled as he felt the panic wash over him before he sighed, blinking and clearing his mind all at once.

“How’d you do it?” He said, finally into the silence.

Potter turned to him from beneath one of the desks, where Snape had tasked him with picking off all the gum by hand.

“Do what?” He asked, knocking his head on the wood as he tried to stand back up.

“Trick Slughorn, he seems like a predictable dolt. I doubt even you’d have trouble doing it; I’m just curious how you did it, is all.”

“I didn’t,” said Potter with a scowl, arms folded at his green eyes bore into Draco incredulously. 

“Of course you did, Potter --everyone knows you’re a dunce at Potions. Trust me, and I’m not going to tell.”

“Malfoy, honestly, for all the years I’ve known you, have you ever done a single thing to make me want to trust you?”

Draco shrugged and turned back to cast another cleaning charm on the portrait of a woman screaming. It was worth a shot. 

“And I didn’t cheat, by the way,” Added Harry, still staring at him.

“Sure you didn’t, Potter.”

“I didn’t!”

Draco snickered at Potter’s sudden outburst. He was always so easy to rile up that Draco didn’t even need to try half the time. Not that pissing him off wasn’t buckets of fun in itself. 

“Don’t fret, Potty, Sluggie’s nose is so far up your arse that he wouldn’t even believe me if I had proof.”

Then Potter made a bizarre sound. So strange, in fact, that Draco nearly dropped his wand in shock. He’d heard Potter laugh before, of course, always that cold, snotty goody-two-shoes laugh whenever he or Weasel said something they thought was witty. The sound Harry had made had not been that. It’d been shy, soft, but so incredibly warm.

“Yeah, Slughorn’s a pretty weird bloke, isn’t he. I’m glad, at least, that I’m not the only one who thinks trying to collect students is a tad creepy.”

“Yes, well, not to mention the man is blind as a bat when it comes to taste. Picking out a bunch of nitwits to join his little club, full offense,” he sneered but couldn’t help the way his lip twitch upward. 

“Of course, Malfoy, because anyone who isn’t you is garbage, right?”

“Exactly,” and when he said that, he was properly smiling, matching Harry’s bemused grin.

“Plus, your mate Zabini’s in the slug club. And Slughorn himself is a Slytherin.”

Draco snorted, “Zabini is not my mate. He’s just fit, that’s all. And I’d have you know Slytherin does have the ability to pop out a few pinheads every now and again, sure it’s at a lower frequency than Gryffindors, but still.”

Harry gawked and blinked a few times before coming back to himself. “Oh yes, I’m quite familiar with Slytherin Pinhead actually, seeing as I am staring right in front of one.”

Draco rolled his eyes, walked over to a desk, and sat on it.

“I’ll tell you what; I’ll tell you how I won in potions if you tell me what you were doing in Borgin and Burkes.”

Draco raised a brow and smirked. “Alright, Potter, how’d you get the luck potion?”

Harry shook his head, “No, you have to tell me first.”

“I’m not stupid, Potter.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Go on, Malfoy, tell me, and I’ll tell you. Gryffindors honor.”

“I was buying a gift for my mother,” he said, “Now go on, how’d you get the luck potion.”

Harry rolled his eyes and then gave Draco a very innocent smile, “I just did what the textbook said.” 

“You’re an arse, Potter.” And Draco turned back to the wall of ghastly portraits. Though he couldn’t ignore the thought in the back of his mind telling him that that had been the longest he and Potter had ever spoken without one of them being hexed by the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is my 18th birthday :))) I'm an adult now...

**Author's Note:**

> A little playlist i have for this fic 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLew5W3nqZCja2iHhwNsw3o6b9OFcSLg3R
> 
> For those of you who don't know i've been working on a PODFIC to accompany this :) check it out here : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gFYbSOi5XFE&list=PLew5W3nqZCjYVxya4hpz6KC6YGLd8FWxk


End file.
